The Enforcer (Untamed Hearts Book 3) (40 page)

“Carina—” Nova started cautiously.

“Back off!” Carina yelled as she pulled open a drawer and took out an extremely large butcher knife. “This is all me.” She pointed the knife at Nova, who backed up a step and held up his hands. “I want your gun, smart guy.”

“I’m not giving you my gun,” Nova said with a manic laugh. “There’s no way.”

Carlo looked at Nova. “I sorta wanna give her mine.”

“If we kill her, we won’t know where Tino is,” Brianna reminded them. “We need to find him.”

One way or the other, they needed to find him.

If he was dead, she still wanted to find him.

She didn’t want him to be another CliffsNote in mafia history. She wanted him to be buried. To have a headstone. To be remembered.

Tears rolled down her face, but no one noticed.

“Listen to your friend.” Nova was still looking at his sister. “Let us do this. Let’s find Tino. Then we’ll deal with the rest.”

Carina stared at him for one long moment; then she turned around and shouted, “MA!” so loud they all flinched when her voice echoed off the kitchen tiles.

Carina made a move to go look for her, but she didn’t have to go far. Mary Moretti showed up before Carina was out of the kitchen, looking remarkably poised and sober for midnight. She leaned against the curved archway in the kitchen and gave Carina a wide, pleased smile. “Looking for something?”

“Where is he?” Carina growled at her mother as she took a threatening step forward. “You better tell me where the fuck he is, or I swear to God—”

“I honestly don’t know where he is.” Mary shrugged, looking completely comfortable with Carina standing there, pan and knife in hand. “Dead somewhere, if we’re lucky. He knew the rules. He broke them. Troia don’t fuck off the clock. I always win, sweetheart.
Always.
”

“I take it back.” Nova’s voice was razor-sharp and icy. “This is all you, princess.”

Mary held up a plastic box in response. It looked like a garage-door opener, but Brianna knew it sounded an alarm to the guard station that they were under attack. There were always Moretti soldiers guarding the house. They took shifts. None of them slept there, but soldiers were there in case of emergency.

They all watched her push the button.

And they knew there was about a thirty-second window before they had company.

Still, Nova said, “Take this bitch.”

Mafia violence, in theory, was something Brianna knew happened. She still screamed when Carina hit her mother with that frying pan. Brianna was almost as shocked as Mary looked right before her head snapped to the side with a spray of blood.

Brianna didn’t know anyone could hit someone that hard.

To say nothing of Carina, who had topped out at five feet nothing, and the doctors told her last year she was done growing.

Brianna had to turn her back. It was an instinct, and she found herself shaking, with her face buried in Carlo’s chest as she listened to the absolutely gruesome act of Carina beating her mother with a fry pan and screaming, “WHERE IS HE?” over and over again. “WHERE’S MY BROTHER?”

Carina’s voice was raw, agonized, as if she was exorcising every demon she had carried with her since birth.

Finally, it was Nova who said, “Stop! Carina!”

And for one minute, the dull, horrible thump of metal against flesh stopped, and Carina growled again, “Where is he? Tell me, or I will cut your eyes out of your skull and leave you alive just for the fucking fun of it!”

Brianna turned around, even though Carlo grabbed her arm to stop her. She stared in horror at Mary on the floor, her face bloody, her nose smashed. Mary opened her mouth to talk, but most of her teeth were missing. All that came out was an awful gurgling sound.

Carina held the butcher knife on Mary, pressing it close to her right eye, and Brianna realized she was actually going to do it right there in front of all of them.

She was going to cut her mother’s eyes out.

Brianna dry heaved against her will, covering her mouth, and Carlo grabbed her arm and pulled her back against his chest just as she saw Mary point toward her purse on the counter.

Brianna looked away from the horror in the archway, turning her head on Carlo’s chest to see Nova grab the purse and dump out all the contents on the counter. He searched through them with a shaking hand until he found a small planner. He flipped through the pages rapidly, too fast to see anything, except he must’ve, because he said, “It’s the client list.”

The sound of a knife clattering against the tile echoed, and Brianna turned against her better judgment to see Carina stand up over her mother and drop the pan. It should’ve been over, but Carina kicked her one more time, forcing Mary’s cheek to smack against the tile.

Mary stopped moving.

She could be dead for all they knew.

For the first time Brianna noticed the other men in the room.

Moretti soldiers who were here to protect the family.

Soldiers who just watched Carina beat the shit out of her mother and did absolutely nothing to stop her.

“Someone call my nonno!” Carina said to no one in particular. “Right now!”

Brianna had never seen cell phones come out of pockets so fast in her entire life.

“If she’d been raised by a
Siciliana
, she’d know not to fuck with one,” Carlo said sadly. “This buttana actually looked surprised.”

“Right? I know who I had my money on,” Nova said as he flipped through the book again. “Fucking with the guineas is bad for anyone’s health.”

Brianna realized Nova wasn’t talking about Mary.

She was just a bleeding afterthought. The first casualty in a full-out mafia war that blew up right in front of them, and Brianna was standing there, watching it happen.

But all she could think about was Tino.

Nothing else really mattered to her.

Please let him be alive.

Chapter Thirty

Tino officially hated basements.

Lorenzo Campelli had a window in his, in the top corner by the stairs, and Tino was fairly certain this was the third time he watched the sun rise.

But he wasn’t totally sure.

The world had gotten a little fuzzy.

He tilted his head, watching the red streak cast a glow across the darkened stairs and, for just a moment, thought he saw Brianna. Sitting there looking at him on those stairs, elbows on her knees, legs covered in dancer spandex, hair tied up in one of those tight ballet buns that made her look like the perfect Dyker Heights girl.

She didn’t say anything; she just waited, all quiet and beautiful.

The longer he stared at her, the less his shoulder hurt, because being handcuffed to a pipe with a jacked-up shoulder got pretty fucking uncomfortable three days in.

Especially when the motherfuckers saw the scars on his back and thought a little posttraumatic stress for Tino would help Lorenzo feel better about having to blow his wife’s brains out.

Only they didn’t have quite the talent for ripping someone apart with a belt like Tino’s father did, which was a real fucking shame. Tino wasn’t going to bleed to death. Even with a hot bullet hole in his thigh, he wasn’t that fucking lucky.

Lorenzo Campelli came up with a much worse way to kill Tino.

He’d been in that basement for three days, and he hadn’t had anything to drink for at least the last two. At first they came in and let him take a piss, but now it didn’t really matter. He was so fucking dehydrated there was no need.

They just left him here to die.

Except Sicilians were hard to kill.

He thought he read somewhere forty-eight hours was the cutoff, but here he was, still fucking alive, sitting there naked with his hands cuffed behind his back.

He would give anything to be able to lie down.

Instead he just stared at Brianna, who sat on the stairs in that golden glow of light and waited for him to die. It was quiet, sort of peaceful, even if getting here had sucked.

He was still blinking heavy-lidded eyes at her, trying to keep her in focus when she started to fade out into shimmers of sunlight, but then voices echoed down the stairs.

Brianna turned and looked up to the door as the sounds seemed to fracture her image with the anger and fear.

“They’ve been raiding houses for the past day, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me you got this motherfucker in your basement!”

The door burst open, and Brianna moved aside in disgust, scooting to the edge of the stairs as highline shoes appeared, the hard thump of them echoing down the stairs.

Only because they were blocking Brianna, Tino blinked up at Lorenzo Campelli with his three goons, and standing in front of them in one of those highline suits like the kind Nova wore was a man Tino had never seen before.

Thin for an Italian, middle-aged, but confident as he folded his arms over his chest and sighed. “Cazzo.”

“He fucked my wife.” Lorenzo gestured at Tino. “He made me kill Rosie.”

“You killed Rosie? The De Lucas’ Rosie?” The suit’s voice was sharp, incredulous as he turned to glare at Lorenzo. “I don’t think I can save you, motherfucker.”

“I’m a made man! He fucked my wife! I could’ve killed him at the house!”

“He’s sixteen.” The suit pointed at Tino. “Your wife was fucking a teenager, and she was paying for it. I don’t think you’re worth saving. There’s a fucking war going on out there. The Morettis have raided houses in four families looking for this little shit, and you just put us in the middle of it.”

“He’s not sixteen,” Lorenzo argued as he looked at Tino. “Is he?”

“Coglione.” The suit got down on his knees and reached out to grab Tino’s face, but Tino jerked away, looking to the corner instead. The suit grabbed Tino’s face anyway and studied him with a critical eye. “What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s burning up with fever.” He looked at Tino’s leg with a grimace. “He’s just got the one bullet hole?”

“The fuck if I know.” Lorenzo sounded genuinely mystified.

The suit squeezed Tino’s cheeks tighter. “What’s wrong with you, kid?”

Tino just looked at him, and then he licked his parched lips, knowing he could ask for water. Instead he rasped, “Vaffanculo,” and jerked his face out of his gasp.

“Yeah, how’re those Moretti balls working out for you now, huh?” The suit snorted in amusement. He patted Tino’s cheek and stood up. “This is the Brambinos’ shit. They sent those tapes knowing someone would be dumb enough to try and kill this kid. You were just the stupid motherfucker to do it, and you were the only one to knock off your wife in the process. Thank God you don’t have kids, but now the De Lucas are going to be sitting next to the Morettis in the commission meeting, and that’s bad for everyone. This is the biggest fuckup I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re lucky this little shit isn’t dead.”

“
Zu
, listen—” Lorenzo started.

“I don’t wanna hear it! Put a fucking suit on! You’re coming to the commission meeting! You created this shit storm! You put us in bed with the fucking Brambinos! Now you’re gonna sit there next to those sick fucks and deal with it!”

The suit turned around and walked back up the stairs like suits did.

Brianna moved out of the way again, like any good mafia girl would when dealing with an opposing Borgata. Disgusted and annoyed, she silently watched the suit stop at the top stairs and call down, “Someone give this motherfucker an aspirin! And put some goddamn clothes on him before Moretti’s freak bastardo grandson shows up losing his shit and crashes the fucking stock market!”

* * * *

“I’m going in.”

“Fine.” The don nodded as he sat across from Nova in the limo. “You can come in. He’s your brother. Let those fuckers sit there and look you in the eye.”

“No.” Nova shook his head. Going on nearly three days with no sleep, he was beyond exhausted. Whoever Tino had been with was off his schedule. They’d been raiding houses in four families and still hadn’t found a lead until this meeting was called. “I need to go in with power. I need a voice they can listen to.”

“You’re a Moretti. You have power,” Aldo assured him.

“Give me the consigliere spot,” Nova said, because at this point he felt like he had nothing to lose. “Let me go in with a recognized voice on the commission.”

The limo was silent afterward.

All they could hear was the hum of tires against asphalt as they headed toward the commission meeting.

Monte Breda, the don’s nephew, sputtered indignantly. “You’re not actually considering that.”

Aldo didn’t say anything. He just stared at Nova critically.

“Temporarily,” Nova added as he glanced to Monte. “You’re not an official consigliere. I can step in for this.”

“But I’ve been acting consigliere for ten fucking years!” Monte shot back.

“We haven’t been in a war, though. We need an official consigliere now, and you can’t do it because of the blood ties,” Nova argued. “Our Borgata needs that voice on the commission, and they won’t let you serve. Our don is not supposed to be dragging his ass to a commission meeting when we’re at war. That makes him vulnerable, and you may not give a shit, but I do, Monte.”

“Call me Zu, you little shit!” Monte growled at him. “And who the fuck do you think you are? You’re his goddamn grandson! You don’t qualify either.”

“But I do.” Nova shrugged. “The church doesn’t recognize me. I am technically outside the family. I can be an official consigliere.”

“That’s a bullshit loophole! First Carlo, now this!” Monte turned on Aldo like a bear. “You are
not
giving Doogie Howser your commission spot! I’d rather see Frankie take it if we’ve got to put you in hiding. Most of the families have their
capo bastone
on the commission. Bring Frankie in.”

“Love you too, Zu.” Carlo quirked an annoyed eyebrow at Monte from his seat next to the don. “I
earned
my spot as the commission enforcer. I didn’t get it by default.”

“And Frankie’s wife caused this shit,” Nova reminded them. “I wouldn’t consider him the best guy to negotiate this issue. I’m the only one who can do this. If we let the don go in when every other family has theirs in hiding, it’ll make our administration look weak.”